


baby, put on heart-shaped sunglasses

by rjosettes



Series: Tumblr Fics [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, F/M, M/M, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjosettes/pseuds/rjosettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia endures a day at the beach for her boyfriends for the promise of a reward after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, put on heart-shaped sunglasses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Tumblr Shipathon for the prompt: 'Hmm. Could you do a Derek/Lydia/Stiles with a day at the beach maybe? My Sterydia need is severely underserviced.' I wrote this while staying at a beach tower hotel and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Lydia peeks out at the waterline over the rim of her sunglasses, allowing herself a brief moment of fond exasperation on a day meant for relaxing. It’s impossible to see through the too-dark tint on these cheap, maraschino cherry red monstrosities, but Stiles had presented them to her with glee when he came trotting out of the third gas station he’d made them stop at. “Heart eyes,” he’d insisted, sweet hopeful flicker of a smile when she’d sighed and taken them. Derek lifts an eyebrow from the driver’s seat while Stiles clambers into the back. He’s not fooling her; he wants to laugh more than he can handle without channeling it into silent judgment. 

She’d meant to wear them only in the car, since her own very neutral shades, complete with assured 100% blockage of UVA and 99% of UVB, were packed on top of her towels and reading material last night. Sometime between then and settling down under her umbrella, they seem to have been…how would he say it? Misappropriated. And so here she is, trying to decipher the smaller type in American Mathematical Monthly without squinting or plastering it to her face. Stiles is still close to the beach, splashing in the shallow tide and probably working up a mean sunburn. Getting him to sit still for the first coat had been difficult enough and involved a lot of her own skin showing and at least a little of Derek’s being covered back up. 

Derek is so far out she can hardly see him from here, which is how she knows he’s showing off just for Stiles. He can swim just as well in the chest-deep water closer to the shore, the same way he can get his workout in without the one-armed pushups. It’s not that Stiles isn’t capable of appreciating subtlety. Lydia knows more than anyone the kind of things he picks up on in his own, uncalculating way, absorbing the unnecessary with the important until he can filter it down. He’s a very visual boy, though, and getting a regular eyeful hasn’t changed that one bit. Stiles is as close to harmless as he ever gets when something beautiful catches his eye and Derek is, without question, something beautiful.

She goes back to browsing for a while, comfortable with the sound of her boyfriends calling to each other in the water and the very, very distant sounds of children further down the beach. The shades are so terrible that she only notices someone standing over her when she feels the miniature sunshower of Stiles wringing his hair out over her legs.

“Derek wants you to come out and do that thing from Dirty Dancing.” He didn’t even give her time to complain. “Like, for the kids, you know? Show them something cool. I know they haven’t seen Swayze do it so you two will just-” He lets his throat crackle with sound, miming explosives going off between them. “Minds, blown.”

Lydia gives him the benefit of the doubt and glances down along the shore until she spots the children - three, varying ages, indeterminate gender - just as far as they’ve been this whole time. “The kids are a hundred and fifty yards down the beach, sweetheart,” she says gently, letting him look for himself. “And at their age, they’d probably think more of Simba being held out over the cliff.”

The sand flies up and sticks to her now-damp legs when Stiles bounces impatiently, rolling his eyes. “Come on, you didn’t put on a bathing suit to come down here and read. You’re not even tanning.”

“Tanning-”

“We know what tanning causes,” Derek interjects, dropping his towel onto her shins and kneeling to wipe the gritty sand off a few grains at a time. If anything, it makes Stiles more annoyed. For a boy who once bought her a flatscreen TV, he sure does mock his boyfriend a lot for trying to please her. “We wanted you to come for a swim. Just a little while, and then we’ll go back to the hotel. The shower is really nice.” He’s so much more clever with what he’s doing than Stiles is when he’s too eager for something. “There’s a bottle of room service white wine with your name on it somewhere.”

She takes a long moment to consider it - ten minutes in the briny water in return for their hands on her in soothing strokes, washing away the salt and sand and leaving her clean enough to kiss. Her own robe from home, fluffier than the hotel could hope to offer, and a glass of wine in a king-sized bed with a view. It’s a fair enough deal, she supposes. In fact, she can probably get away with eight minutes if she lets Derek do the lift with her.

“Ariel earning her name,” Stiles teases on the way to the water, giddy.

He gets his comeuppance the next day when he’s lobster red and too sensitive for the slow morning sex she and Derek have beside him in the clean white sheets of a strange bed.


End file.
